


Wanting It

by literaryspell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 04:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryspell/pseuds/literaryspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fleeing from a Death Eater, Hermione finds the strength to make a change. A very important change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting It

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to fbs_fic for the incredible beta!

  
Hermione gasped as another tree branch whipped across her body, cutting her. The ensuing sharp inhalation of breath made the stitch in her side flare up, and she cried out at the dual pain.

But she didn’t stop.

It was almost worse not knowing which Death Eater was behind her. If she’d known that it was just Crabbe or Goyle—junior or senior—then she could have turned to fight, knowing she was their superior in magic. But being ignorant of the identity behind the mask made her vulnerable. She couldn’t best the elder Malfoy. She couldn’t fall to the sadistic Macnair. She didn’t trust herself to keep her focus with Dolohov.

So running really did seem to be the best option. The only thing going for her was the lightness of her apparel, even though she stood out starkly against the forest’s greens. She wore a white sheath dress, something out of the Virgin Sacrifice Handbook, to be sure.

Wrong on both counts, arseholes. I’m no virgin, and I sure as hell don’t intend to be sacrificed!

Hermione’s bare foot impacted with a tree root, but she rode out the pain and kept on. She had a decent speed advantage, not to mention stealth and evasive technique, but the Death Eater had the incentive: capture her and be rewarded handsomely. Fail and die.

You have to want it!

Sirius’ voice echoed through her head, bouncing around until she physically shook herself to be rid of it. I do!

A crash behind her and inventive cursing spurned Hermione into an extra burst of speed. If she could just escape his sight, then she could switch directions and maybe even double back; he’s be none the wiser. Hogwarts was still safe; just not at the entry points, as she’d learned.

Hermione slowed only enough to concentrate, trying to force a change through her body, attempting to create a new and dangerous form. Merlin help her if she turned into a turtle.

It’s about discipline and determination. That was McGonagall. Funny that she and Sirius had such different ideas about what it took to initiate the Animagus change. Neither was here to coach her, and Sirius never would, again.

Discipline.

Hermione focused almost all of her attention on the change, aware of herself right down to her throbbing foot and up to the tangled mass of her hair.

Determination.

Hermione wanted it, oh, gods, she wanted it so badly. She didn’t want to be Nagini food, she didn’t wanted to be a Death Eater toy, she didn’t want to go back there…

She wanted to be a bird. She’d shift and throw herself into the sky, catching the wind and disappearing, going back to Hogwarts where it was safe, arriving through the owlery. Harry and Ron would be so proud.

She wanted to be a horse. She could outrun that surprisingly fit Death Eater in moments as her powerful body, perfect for escape, easily avoided capture.

She wanted to be a mouse, so small and quick that she’d shift in the blink of an eye and just scurry behind a tree as the brute lumbered past, brows drawn in confusion behind his mask as his mind raced with how to explain her escape to his master.

She really wanted to be a wolf. She wouldn’t escape by air, outrun him, hide. She’d stop in her tracks and turn to face him, lips baring ferocious canines as she contemplated which body part to maim first. Then she’d show them a thing or two about sacrifices.

Hermione’s foot landed in a shallow hole, her knee locking, hip protesting at the awkward impact. She went down, hard. Her momentum threw her forward, and her ribs came into contact with a protruding root. The breath was rushed from her body in a great whoosh, and she panicked as she found she couldn’t inhale at all.

The footsteps behind her were closing the distance, and a great, horrible laugh rent the silence.

“Not so pretty now, are we?” the anonymous man snarled, kicking her hard in the ribs with an obscenely polished boot.

She was grateful for the impact, for it seemed to force her lungs back into functioning. She gasped in great gulps, curling into the foetal position to protect her vital organs from his punishing boot.

Another kick made her scramble away, trying to get the ground back under her feet so she could bolt again, but her foot was obviously broken and didn’t seem agreeable to letting her abuse it any further. She stumbled and fell.

“The Dark Lord has such delicious plans for you, Mudblood,” he said, clearly cheered at the idea. He was panting, but not enough to limit his speech, unfortunately for Hermione.

Discipline, Hermione. Focus.

Hermione clenched her eyes shut, but the moment she did, another kick propelled her several feet away. She rolled into the landing, shifting again to protect her vulnerable stomach, tucking her head. Another kick. Pain was blossoming all over her body, and she wondered why he wasn’t bringing her back right away.

But the Death Eaters always did like to make their displeasure known.

You have to want it! Sirius shouted, and he looked afraid for her, which made her afraid for herself. You have to want it so fucking bad you’d give anything up! Do anything! Pay any price! Sirius shifted into Padfoot, his matted and shaggy black fur making her want to give him a bath. He barked urgently at her behind her closed eyelids, and she almost reached out to touch him.

You have to fucking want it, ‘Mione!

Hermione let out a primal scream of frustration and hate and every other ugly and beautiful emotion that had led her to this point.

“I fucking want it!” she screamed at the bemused Death Eater, turning a glare so full of loathing and wrath upon him that it actually hurt her face. “I want it.”

And it happened so fast that she barely had time to acknowledge that she was on all fours, long and powerful and a machine built for making people like him suffer.

Sparing a glance to her forepaws, she saw that she was some sort of huge, white cat. A snow leopard. She screamed again and wasn’t surprised to hear a snarling roar instead, her head tossing with the power of her anger.

The Death Eater, though taller and possibly heavier, but only just, was frozen in place, a victorious smile sliding into horrified fear.

“Nice kitty… nice…” he said, putting his hands in front of himself as if to placate her. Hermione laughed, the sound a hiss.

No. Not nice.

 

 

 

The end.  



End file.
